


Rewind, Reprise, Repeat

by a_mind_at_work (Madame_Marauder)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angelica is a bit of a bitch, Angst, Chocolate, F/F, Fluff, Gen, I cause nothing but pain I'm sorry, Lots of Angst, M/M, Nobody does anything though, Nonbinary Marquis de Lafayette, Panic Attacks, Reincarnation, Reunions, Vague Mentions of Suicide, justifiably so but still, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-23 02:30:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Marauder/pseuds/a_mind_at_work
Summary: Alexander Harrison, high school sophomore in a sad little town with opinions from the 50s, keeps running into old faces hidden behind new ones.So what's one to do except start another revolution?





	1. Meetings, Greetings, and Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> Alright folks, you know how often I abandon stuff, so if you want more of this PLEASE tell me in the comments so I don't forget about it.
> 
> Bit fluff-heavy in the first part, but a lot more angst in the second.

  
         It was, he reflects, possibly the stupidest thing he'd done in a while. Not stupid as in unintelligent, nor stupid as in self-destructive, though god knows he'd done things that fell into both of those categories across his lifetimes. No, it was stupid in a harmless, silly way. And considering that it was relatively harmless, he didn't try and stop himself.  
         So what if he walked to a certain tempo and his voice lilted up on the 5th syllable of his full name and a melody always played in the background of his mind no matter what it was that he was doing? So what if he held on so tightly to the last reachable piece of his past life? There were much, much worse things to fill one's mind with, things that he had long since drowned out with shouts from an unseen ensemble.  
_Rise up, rise up,_ his mind whispers as he takes the stairs three at a time, trying to ignore the feeling that they're crumbling beneath his feet. He whips down the hall, feeling his messenger bag bounce against his side as he scrambles to his locker and stares at the scribbled numbers on his arm.  
         Something big is coming. He can feel it in his bones.  
  
         He hurries down the hall, clutching the towering stack of binders and folders and papers, red pen and a pencil stuck in his ponytail.

         If he was anyone else, he would be your stereotypical bullying victim- short, Latino, smart, wearing glasses. But this is Alexander _~~Hamilton, my name is Alexander Hamilton~~ ,_ Harrison, and everyone at his school is very, very aware that anyone less intelligent than him who provokes him will be crushed like a bug, and if you were one of the few on his level? Well, the term ‘mutually assured destruction’ comes to mind.

       Ben Archer learned his lesson the hard way.                    

       No-one is stupid enough to torment Alexander, nor those few considered under his protection. But his true friends are indeed few and far between, and so those others who had sneered at him for years until he'd finally cast aside his attempts at restraint? Yeah, they deserved each other.

        But the new kid was as of yet unclaimed by any sort of clique, as they had only arrived the afternoon before. And as someone who is fairly androgynous and wearing eyeliner, not to mention black, the school assholes have seemingly pegged them as this year's target.  
         “You're a freak,” Alexander hears someone sneer, and he picks up the pace, his best friend trailing not far behind.  
         A slur gets thrown into the stale hallway air, quickly followed by another, and Alexander feels his blood boil, _you get nothing if you wait for it_ , shoving his books into Herc’s waiting arms and ignoring the resigned look on the taller boy's face as he grabs the bully’s arm.  
        “Charles Lake!” Alexander says in faked surprise. “Good to see you back. Are you still on probation after you got suspended, or did your dad get that business all cleared up for you, hmm?”  
         Lake turns and sneers down at the shorter boy. “So what if I'm on probation- I haven't done anything wrong!”  
         Alexander tuts and shakes his head remorsefully, releasing his grip on the asshole’s arm. “Ah, but Charles, you know that the teachers will think otherwise if they _somehow_ got word of what you were saying to our classmate here. Do you think you might get pulled off your team?”  
        “I suppose you want this freak to join your little band of queers?” Lake replies, gritting his teeth.  
         The immigrant flashes a shark-like smile, something burning in his gaze. “Language,” Alexander says softly. Herc shifts behind him.  
         Lake scowls but backs away. “They're yours, then?” he asks, clearly sensing the danger and tension hanging heavy in the air.  
        “Mine,” the other replies, inclining his head.  
         As he turns on his heel, he all but growls, “Then I guess I'll spread the word.”  
         Once the retreating form of Lake is out of earshot, Alex glances at Herc and they both start laughing, Alex nearly doubling over. “Oh my god, that was way too easy,” Herc wheezes between laughs, before nudging Alex and handing over his books. “Alright, alright, introductions all ‘round and then we need to head to class.”  
         Alex accepts his pile of papers back and tucks it under one arm with a practiced ease his classmates envy, turning to the new kid. “Right. I'm Alexander Ham- Harrison, he/him. Welcome to the saddest high school this side of the county,” he says, holding out his hand to shake.  
         The new kid awkwardly shakes hands, bracing their books against their hip. “I have a lot of names, but you can -how you say- just call me Lafayette. And, uh, they/them.”  
         “Hercules Meyer, but _please_ just call me Herc. He/him.”  
         Alexander stares as the two fall to amicably chatting as they walk to class, feeling that tingling sense of deja vu come racing up his spine and over his shoulders, eyes widening as it swirled over his neck and down his arms and abruptly he remembers again.  
         In the now he only stumbles slightly, but in the past he bumps into someone and trips his way into friendship and falls in love and plummets into grief and drowns in mourning and despair, clawing his way up with ambition only to be dragged back down to right back where he started.  
         In the now he laughs along with the joke Herc makes.  
         In the past he remembers a walk between tents in the snow and another stupid joke that breaks his somber mood.  
         In the now he slides into his seat in Science and pulls out a notebook, sliding a spare sheet of paper to Lafayette.  
         In the past he remembers sliding into a booth and slipping a tankard across the table to his waiting friend, raising his own to toast to freedom.  
         In the past he quietly passes that same tavern and frowns to be the only one to remember that night.  
         In the now he silently glances over at the others and does the same. _You said tomorrow there'd be more of us..._  
  
         Lafayette remembers in the middle of US History three weeks later, their eyes flying wide open as the substitute teacher drones on. “The war would never have been won without the help of France, specifically one young man who was aide de camp to General Washington- the one and only Marquis de Lafayette.”  
        The Frenchperson only half listens as the teacher moves along, instead nudging Alexander's desk. The boy next to them stops scribbling doodles of guns and ships in the margins of his notebook and raises an eyebrow.  
        “That's me,” Lafayette hisses. “That is-was me.”  
       Alexander's gaze snaps up and sees the sincerity and conviction in their face, and something inside him seems to melt. “I know,” he says simply. “And I'm sorry. It's my fault we didn't send help to you. But the state we were in, we were hardly holding ourselves together, there was no way it would have ended well for the Union.”  
         It's Lafayette’s turn to raise an eyebrow, but Alexander shakes his head. “You'll figure it out when you have your full Revelation _,_ Laf. But it's good to have you back.”  
         The rest of the day things trickle through randomly, and by the time Lafayette is crawling into bed they find it completely maddening.  
_G.Laf: Alex u knew me right_  
_A.Ham: yeeeee_  
_G.Laf: trigger me_  
_my memories_  
_thats a thing that happens right_  
_A.Ham: r u sure mon ami_  
_its gonna be a lot worse than if u let it happen naturally_  
_G.Laf: im sure_  
_also why is ur name a.ham not a.har_  
_A.Ham: subtle attempt at reminding u folks_  
_and also habit_  
_u ready?_  
_G.Laf: go for it_  
_A.Ham: u were ⅓ of the Gay Trio_  
_u had 7 names_  
_were vvv close to us all_  
_G.Laf: more personal than that_  
_we need my memories, not textbook facts_  
_A.Ham: u were the Lancelot of the Revolutionary Set_  
 The phone falls from their hands as the memories start to pour in, whatever dam that had held them back shattering.  
_A.Ham: Laf?_  
_u good?_  
_it work?_  
_Laf?_  
They grab the phone with shaking hands, feeling the tears working their way down their face. It feels like floating, and it feels like flying, and it feels like drowning all at once. And it's been six minutes, how has it been six minutes?  
_G.Laf: petit lion?_  
_A.Ham: LAF_  
_YOU'RE BACK_  
_G.Laf: im back, alexander_  
_so r u_  
_and yes i forgive you for not helping_  
_A.Ham: mon ami_  
_G.Laf: mon ami_  
_mon frère_  
_A.Ham: im actually crying rn_  
_G.Laf: that makes two of us_  
_shit wait is herc our herc_  
_A.Ham: im pretty sure_  
_G.Laf: my foster dad just came in to see why im crying_  
_MON DIEU_  
_HOLY SHIT_  
_ITS GWASH_  
_I JUST RECOGNIZED HIM_  
_A.Ham: aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh_  
_im not alone anymore!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_  
_G.Laf: what do i say?????_  
_A.Ham: just say u had ur revelation_  
_an ur friend is from before too_  
_G.Laf: he asked who i was_  
_do i tell him?_  
_A.Ham: idk?????????????_  
_G.Laf: fuck it_  
_im telling him_  
_A.Ham: u do that_  
_G.Laf: hes crying and hugging me now_  
_merde he just asked who im texting_  
_do i tell him?????_  
_A.Ham: fuck it why not_  
_G.Laf: hes crying harder and now martha walked in_  
_A.Ham: our martha?_  
_G.Laf: considering she asked why we were crying_  
_an he replied that their psuedo-children are back_  
_an she gasped and said ‘Gilbert?’ and joined the hug_  
_then yes_  
_A.Ham: tell them i say hi_  
_G.Laf: hush you we're having our moment here_  
_you an i already had our moment_  
_A.Ham: since when did i ever hush_  
_G.Laf: i read that out loud and gwash just started laughing_  
  
The moment the school bus stops, Lafayette hurries off and dashes to the library, not disappointed as they find Alexander sitting at a table, scribbling away. “ _Mon petit lion!_ ” they call, and Alexander stands and turns, hesitating before letting out a relieved sigh and flinging himself into their arms.  
          “You're back. You're back, and you remember. I'm not alone,” Alex whimpers, clinging to their jacket.  
  
_Tomorrow there'll be more of us,_ he thinks, staring at the freckled transfer student, and exchanges a glance with Lafayette. Alexander snorts at the sense of deja vu, not because this happened in his first life, but because this was happening for the second time this year. Lake's cornered the new kid and started throwing slurs and insults. The boy just laughs, leaning against the lockers.  
         “I'm from South Carolina, sweetheart,” he says, picking at his cuticles. “You're gonna have to do better than that, hun.”  
          Lake lets out an enraged shout and aims a punch at the kid's head, except that the kid isn't there anymore. He's ducked and aimed an elbow at Lake's abdomen, stepped aside and swept the legs out from under him. _Ha, the Redcoats don't want it with me._  
          Freckles straightens, nudging the winded football player with one rainbow Converse. “Like I said; gonna have to do better than that.” He shuts and locks his locker without a care in the world, and walks past the rest of the stunned bullies.  
         “What's your name, man?” Alexander hears himself ask as the boy approaches.  
          Freckles grins, defensive reaction falling as he glimpses the bi pin on Alexander's jacket. “John Lawrence, in the place to be, I see,” he quips, and Alexander's heart speeds up.  
         “Well, it's good to meet someone else who's stood up to Lake,” Alex replies. “Alone,” he amends after Lafayette’s quiet objection.  
         John’s grin widens into a smirk. “Good to know not everyone here is an asshole. See you around, then,” he says with a short wave as he heads down a separate hall.  
         And Alexander is _helpless, oh look at those eyes._  
         How he'd missed those eyes.  
  
Herc is the second to remember in the midst of Adams’ class, and it makes Alexander so, so grateful that he listened to the musical and had his Revelation over the summer break.  
         Just like Lafayette, his name gets a short, off-handed mention by the teacher, and his eyes widen as he glances around the room. But neither Alexander nor Lafayette are in this class, and the only person who looks his way is John.  
        “You alright there, Mul- Meyer?” the freckled boy whispers.  
         Herc stares at him, eyebrows shooting up at the slip. “You knew me, didn't you? You were about to say Mulligan, right?”  
         A massive grin spreads across John’s face, and he relaxes in his chair. “Took you damn well long enough, Herc,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I was wondering if anyone would. Do you recognize me yet, or did you just remember?”  
        “Just now. But we were close, weren't we? You seem really, really familiar.”  
        John’s grin dims a bit, then returns in full force. “I can jumpstart the memories later if you want,” he offers, and Herc nods furiously.  
        “Please do. You've remembered, haven't you?”  
        The freckled face next to him suddenly falls. “Yeah. I'll warn you though, it's not all historical drama and action and romance. Here,” he suddenly says, tearing off a corner of his paper and scribbling something on it. “Here, it's my number. Text me once you've decided if you really want to know.”  
        Herc takes the scrap of paper with a frown. “Did my life really suck that much?” he asks.  
        John shrugs. “Well, I don't know what you got up to after the war- I was dead, you see- but yeah, the war sucked massive ass.”  
        The bell rings and they leave their last class, filing out to the buses.

  
       _H.Mey: hey john?_  
_J. Law: ye?_  
_hang on_  
**_J.Law has changed their name to Turtles_**  
_Turtles: whats up_  
_H.Mey: do the thing_  
_the memory thing_  
_Turtles: u sure man_  
_H.Mey: YES_  
_not knowing is killing me_  
_Turtles: if ur sure_  
**_Turtles has shared_** **_memories.mp4 with the chat_**  
It wasn't anything flashy, or showy, or particularly fancy. No dramatic reveal of a picture or letter or anything. Just a 7-second clip of John staring at the camera, then raising a water bottle in a toast and declaring, “Raise a glass to freedom, something they can never take away. No matter what they tell you!”  
          But the simple tune brought with it a barrage of memories and suddenly everything came slamming in like a punch to the gut.  
       _H. Mey: LAURENS YOU MOTHERFUCKING ASSHOLE_  
_YOU FUCKING DIED ON US_  
_Turtles: oops?_  
_H. Mey: I DONT KNOW WHETHER TO HUG YOU_  
_OR PUNCH YOU_  
_Turtles: im voting for the hug, personally_  
_its good to see that some things never change_  
_H.Mey: dont you fucking dare_  
_Turtles: open your eyes, let's begin_  
_yes, it's really me, it's Laurens: breathe it in!_  
_H.Mey: goddammit_  
_and here i thought we were having a moment_  
_Turtles: nah_  
_this is me were talking about_  
_only one person gets to have /moments/ w me_  
_H.Mey: shit son my friends just changed the chat name_  
_OH MY SHIT ITS THEM_  
_FLYING POTATOES DO THEY KNOW?????_  
_Turtles: ur friends?_  
_u mean scrawny and fluffy?_  
_H.Mey: someday ill tell them u said that_  
_but guess what the chat name is_  
_Turtles: hmm_  
_H.Mey: The Rev Set™_  
_Turtles: !!!!!!!!!!!!_  
_its alex and laf, right?_  
_H.Mey: im like 99.6% sure, ye_  
_Turtles: do they remember or is it like a subconscious thing_  
_H.Mey: idk ill ask them_  
_Turtles: u do that_  
     Herc switched conversations to the group chat with shaking hands, praying that he wasn't wrong.  
         _H.Mey: wats up w the chat name_  
_G.Laf: uh_  
_A.Ham: previous life joke_  
_H.Mey: u 2 knew each other then?_  
_A.Ham: yeeeeeee_  
_G.Laf: oui oui, mon ami_  
_A.Ham: i regret showing u that_  
_G.Laf: add it to ur infinite list of bad choices_  
_H.Mey: so who were u?_  
_A.Ham: uh_  
_Alexander Hamilton_  
_G.Laf: Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Moiter_  
_aka the Marquis de Lafayette_  
_H.Mey: cool_  
Herc screenshots it and sends it to John, nervous energy showing in his bouncing leg and drumming fingers.  
         _Turtles: shit_  
_holy fuck_  
_add me to the chat_  
_H.Mey: um_  
_we do have school tomorrow, you know_  
_i feel like this would be better in person_  
_Turtles: Hercules Mulligan Meyer_  
_add me to the chat or so help me god_  
_H.Mey: or what_  
_Turtles: need i remind you i still have dirt on u_  
_H.Mey: like what_  
_what did i possibly do_  
_Turtles: did ur Revelation leave out the horses?_  
_H.Mey: …_  
_kno what why dont i have them go to the library_  
_and we can meet them there_  
_Turtles: Hercules…_  
_H.Mey: fine_  
He warns the chat and adds John, shaking his head. Even he can predict the incoming trainwreck.  
         ** _H.Mey has added Turtles to this conversation_**  
_H.Mey: i was blackmailed into it_  
_G.Laf: who is this?_  
_Turtles: Alexander Hamilton, you motherfucker_  
_of all the people who you couldve dueled_  
_of all the petty shit to get killed over_  
_you chose AARON BURR?????_  
_A.Ham: um_  
_G.Laf: who r u again_  
_Turtles: rly laf_  
_i mean i might have been the first to die_  
_but that doesn't mean u can just forget me_  
_A.Ham: !!!!!!!!!!!!_  
_LAURENS_  
_MY LAURENS_  
_Turtles: hey alex_  
_good to see u too_  
_G.Laf: LAURENS_  
_MERDE ITS BEEN TOO LONG_  
_Turtles: i literally flirted w alex in the hall monday_  
_G.Laf: …_  
_alright alex what pop do u want_

 _A.Ham: sprite_  
_also laurens where r u_  
_i need to see you_  
_Turtles: meet @ the library?_  
_A.Ham: yes!!!!!!!!_  
_im already there_  
_Turtles: en route now_  
_G.Laf: herc lets just let the lovebirds alone_  
_H.Mey: fine w me_  
_i had to stop a lams makeout once_  
_truly a terrifying experience_  
_one i do NOT want to repeat_  
_G.Laf: exactly_  
  
          John barely remembers to lock up his bike as he leaps off and near-sprints into the library. Alexander stands suddenly, chair falling over behind him. The librarian hisses at them, but is ignored as Alexander grabs John's hand and drags him into the shelves of the nonfiction section.  
         “Alexander,” John whispers when they're safely hidden. “Alexander, god, I-”  
         Tears pool in Alexander's violet eyes, gradually spilling over and tracing down his cheeks. “Laurens,” he says, cupping the other's face in one shaking hand. “My dearest Laurens.”  
          John reaches out and mirrors the gesture, wiping the tears off Alexander's cheeks. “I'm here, Alexander. And I'm so, so sorry I wasn't for so long.”  
          Alexander wordlessly, slowly, gently pulls him down for a kiss. They lock lips, only pulling back when they hear someone cough awkwardly.  
          “Not that I have a problem with makeouts in the stacks,” says a library assistant, waving towards them with a book, “but I do need to reshelve this. And you're kind of in my way.”  
          John shrinks back instinctively, and Alexander steps back as well, before he snorts at the book being shoved back on the shelf- Alexander Hamilton, by Ron Chernow.  
         “What?” asks the assistant, before following their gaze to the book. “Oh, yeah, Hamilton. Kind of an asshole if you ask me, even if he meant well. Didn't really seem all that great at public opinion.”  
         John's eyes dart down to the nametag on her shirt, and his grip on Alexander's hand tightens as he read the neatly printed name _Maria_.  
          “Gee, thanks,” Alexander replies, clearly not scenting the danger. “I try.”  
         Maria, who had begun to turn around, whirls back to face him. “Wh- oh. I thought you seemed familiar,” she replied, voice falling flat.  
          Alexander finally seems to realize who she was, and opens his mouth, but she raises a hand. “Don't apologize, Alexander. You might have brought yourself down, and dragged Eliza and I down with you, but you made damn sure that James was just as trapped as the rest of us. It ruined us both, but it worked.”  
          He sighs. “Well. I'm still sorry.”  
          “For what it's worth, I am too,” she replies. “But there's no use in crying over spilled milk. We have a second chance now, and I won't waste it mourning the past. So I forgive you, if that's what you're looking for.”  
          Alexander's shoulders relax at that, as if a great weight was lifted from them. Which, honestly, it was.  
          “Mare,” calls a girl's voice, and Maria’s eyes widen.  
          “One second,” she replies, turning to Alexander. “Look here. I'm dating your very pan, very attached sister-in-law. She just walked in. Say hello if you want, but she most likely _will_ deck you.”  
          Alexander's arm finds its way around John’s waist, and he smiles over at him. “Nothing I won't have earned, then,” he quips, and pulls John closer. “Besides, I do believe I'm a taken man.”  
         John's heart stops, then restarts, because as many rainbows as his shoes are covered with, it finally has sunk in that this is a thing they can do, in public, and not break any laws. Kissing Alexander _did not break any laws._ Loving Alexander _did not break any laws._ Hell, he could _legally marry Alexander!_  
 He swallows hard and ruffles Alexander's hair. “I do believe you are right, Alex.”  
          They walk out of the shelves, John very deliberately twining their fingers together in plain sight. Alexander grins and squeezes his hand, John squeezing his back. And then a raven-haired girl catches sight of Alexander.  
         “You fucking bastard,” she hisses, stalking forwards. “How dare you?”  
         Alexander shys away backwards. “Heya, Angie.”  
         “Don't you ‘heya Angie’ me, Hamilton. You died on me- you died on Eliza- you died on the kids. Goddammit, do you have any idea what-”  
         Suddenly he stops backing away, a fire lighting in his eyes and straightening his spine. “Yes, I really truly do know what the results of that duel were,” he snaps, free hand curling aroung the back of a chair. “Those being that my family lost its main source of income, my children had to grow up without their dad, and that I did the one fucking thing that I swore I would never do, no matter where it might take me. I get it, okay?”  
          Angelica narrows her eyes and shoots back, “It's fantastic that you know, Alexander, objectively speaking. But do you understand-”  
         “Yes, I damn well understand exactly what you and Betsey and the kids all had to go through, considering that I was such a blind, arrogant bastard that I went and became my father, alright?” he retorts fiercely, tone sharp and ragged. “I daresay that I have twice the understanding, considering karma decided to bite me in the ass again!” His voice breaks on the last word, and he turns away, pulling his hand out of John's. He disappears through the door without another word.  
          John glances at Angelica’s shocked expression and then over to the door, frustration settling over him. “Miss Schuyler, I do believe he described you and your sisters as warm and affectionate in his letters, if a bit passionate in your case,” he says over his shoulder as he grabs Alexander's bag and coat and heads for the door. “And yet you hold a 200-year grudge against him for the act of dying.”  
          He's reasonably sure that Maria glares at him as she goes to comfort her girlfriend, but he doesn't care. Alexander is walking down the sidewalk as fast as he can, ignoring the fact that it's early November and he's in a thin T-shirt.  
          “Alex,” John calls, rushing after him. “Alex, dear boy, you forgot your coat.”  
         As hoped, the endearment stops him in his tracks, giving John the time to catch up. “Here, I figured you'd want your stuff back.”  
         “Thanks,” Alexander mumbles, pulling on his coat and accepting his bag back. “I'm sorry about all that, I just… yeah. I still am mad at myself about dying like that.”  
          John takes his hand and pulls him back over to a bench in front of the library. “Alexander, I'll tell you what my sister said about dying, alright? 1. Were you expecting it?”  
          “No,” Alexander sighs. “It was a political duel, which usually means both parties will forfeit-”  
          “2,” John interrupted. “Did you intend for it to happen?”  
          Alexander scowls. “Of course not!”  
          “3. Did you harbor suicidal feelings?”  
          There's a beat of hesitation, before he replies softly, “Not at that point, no.”  
          John squeezes his hand, but doesn't comment. “Then 4. Did you knowingly put yourself at risk without caring about said risk, or because you thought necessity/reward outweighed the risk?”  
          Alexander sighs, breath steaming in the chilly air. “Necessity.”  
          “Then it's not your fault. You didn't off yourself, nor did you consciously or subconsciously want to be offed. Hence, your death was not a choice you made. You may have chosen to put yourself in a possibly deadly position, but you didn't choose to die.”  
          The shorter curls into his side, wrapping his arms around John's middle. “And supposedly I'm the eloquent one.”  
           John rests his head on Alexander's. “I like to think I have my moments.”


	2. Burr, Written Wars, (and Sadness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so heavy angst/panic attack after the line break, so skip if you want.  
> Also the formatting is a lil bit fucked, I can't quite fix that one.  
> It's a shorter chapter, but it's a chapter.

           “I am so sick of this shit,” Alexander growls, slamming his lunchbox on the table with more force than strictly necessary. “So fucking sick of it.”

          Lafayette pokes the school mystery meat with a fork and stares in alarmed horror as it honest-to-god _shakes_ like it was Jell-O. “Um,” they reply. “What specifically?”

          John all but throws himself into his chair, ignoring his lunch in favor of sliding a crumpled piece of paper to the center of the table. “Looks like we've finally ticked off King enough for him to send another lackey after our asses.”

         Printed on the top of the paper is the title: _Free Thoughts on the So-Called Gender Revolution._ Samuel Seabrook’s name rests next to it. _Heed not the rabble who scream revolution._

        “That fucking bastard,” Herc fumes, halfway out of his seat. John pulls him back down.

       Alexander lazily raises three fingers in the air as he takes a bite of his sandwich. “First off, that's offensive to actual bastards, Herc. Secondly, Laf, don't fucking shake your head and say it's alright; it's not. Third, no John you can't fight him, I'm on it.”

        John glances over and looks at the unopened notebook and waiting pencil and laughs, recalling a soapbox and a pamphlet. Alexander grins and flips open the cover, showing them the waiting title: Farmboy Refuted. “What, a little too on-the-nose?” he asks innocently.

        Herc snorts, staring at the page. “Hey, they poked the bear, they should know that the bear bites back.” _Oh my god, tear this dude apart._

        “Hard,” Alexander shoots back, grin falling. “The bear bites back hard.”

 

        Tensions at school ramped up after the printing and distribution of _Farmboy Refuted_ . Seabrook re-ran copies of his _Free Thoughts_ and handed them out under a different name. Alexander called him out on it.

       Eventually things came to a head when they both went to staple copies of their respective pieces on a message board.

       “Finally have new material, Sam?” Alexander taunts, leaning over to read the ‘latest’ essay. His eyes harden as he skims the page. “Well, at least you've phrased it differently this time.” The boy punches his stapler into the board with more force than is really needed.

       Seabrook shrugs silently, doing a fantastic job of looking rather terrified. “If they d-don’t understand, s-say it again.”

       Alexander glances down, surprise evident. “From a different angle,” he responds. “Appeal to their existing opinion. There's these fabulous essays written by a guy called Publius- a pen name, obviously- and the first seven say basically the same thing, but are addressed to separate groups. Called the Federalist Papers, worked wonderfully.”

        The pale boy blinks at him, eyes wide behind his round glasses. “Um. Why are you being nice to me?”

        “Well,” Alexander replies, “As one of my favorite composers once said, hate the sin, love the sinner.” _Hamilton!_ “Just because your opinions might be… cruel… that doesn't mean you can't be swayed.”

       Seabrook freezes, stapler halfway to the board. “Cruel?”

       Oh. Perhaps a more Burr-like touch was needed for this one. “Yeah,” Alexander decides abruptly. “Yeah, okay. So imagine everyone in the world has to wear either green or orange. And we have someone who has to wear green, every day of their life, right?”

        “Right…”

       “But they want to wear purple. They hate wearing green, it makes them really uncomfortable. So they start wearing purple.”

       Seabrook nods.

        “Now the person who used to wear green is wearing purple, and that makes some of the people in green and orange very upset, because they say you can only wear green or orange,” Alexander continues. “And that makes the person in purple feel really bad about themself.”

        The bell rings, and Alexander re-adjusts his bag. “Think about it,” he says as he walks away.

     _A.Ham: jesus on a unicycle_

_i feel like i just explained why u shouldnt call people bastards to philip again_

_Turtles: ?_

_A.Ham: so i talked to seabrook_

_or should i say Seabury?_

_bc i finally recognized him_

_H.Mey: oooooooooooo_

_A.Ham: hush u_

_bc in this instance i feel like it was one of those_

_‘blame the parents, not the kid’ things_

_G.Laf: didnt expect to hear that one from u_

_A.Ham: i mean im as surprised as u_

_but i made an offhanded remark an he didnt get defensive_

_he was genuinely surprised_

_so i used the Color Metaphor™_

_an i think he might have got it?_

_Turtles: why do i feel like were gonna have to do this again_

_like fight less write more_

_A.Ham: bc if a reasonable convo changed seaburys mind_

_it might change others minds_

_despite the past lives this isnt the revolution_

_G.Laf: even if its a verbal fight thats better than legit violence_

_seriously hamslice isnt wrong_

**_A.Ham has changed their name to Hamslice_ **

_Hamslice: i feel like we all have too-short tempers for this_

_i hate to say this but u know Aaron Burke_

_G.Laf: hes had his revelation, i think_

_Hamslice: well that makes my life easier_

_Turtles: um, love_

_this is a bad idea_

_H.Mey: 1. We dont kno his opinions_

  1. _He disliked u enough to shoot you_
  2. _U cant be serious_



_Hamslice: 1. Its burr, never have_

  1. _He regrets it_
  2. _U have a life, laf doesnt rly write, johns too abrasive and my wordcount scares people off_



_G.Laf: alex isnt wrong_

_Turtles: i get to punch him for shooting u tho_

_Hamslice: of course dear_

 

 Alexander gently taps the junior's arm, sliding into the seat next to him in the library. “Pardon me,” he says as Aaron looks up with a raised eyebrow. “But were you Aaron Burr, sir?”

         Aaron recoils, then tries to hide it as a regular shift so he can cross his legs. “That depends. Who's asking?”

         _Oh well sure, sir._ “Oh, well sure. My name was Alexander Hamilton, remember me, sir? Because I certainly remember you.” _Burr, my first friend, my enemy._

         The older boy drops his pen and stares at him. “Alexander?”

         “Burr,” Alexander replies, fighting to keep his voice neutral. “Can we agree that duels are dumb and immature?”

          Aaron’s voice breaks as he says, “To be sure.”

          The shorter boy presses on, leaning over the table. “And that to claim a life over losing a presidential seat is absurd?”

           “Yes,” Aaron all but whispers.

           Alexander leans back in his chair. “Then we're good, Aaron. You obviously regret it, regret isn't strong enough a word for my feelings on the subject… so we're good.”

           Aaron blinks. “You can't be serious.”

           “And if I am?” Alexander challenges. “If I've had a quarter and change to stew and decided that holding old grudges for something I'd forgiven once I heard your reaction the first time is stupid and petty?”

           “I- But I-” Aaron’s eyes are wide, searching the other's face.

           With a heavy sigh, Alexander pats him on the shoulder. “Look. I'm not dead, you're not dead, John's not dead and has agreed to date my sorry ass, Angelica hates me but she's not dead, Maria’s forgiven me and also is in a healthy relationship, Laf’s forgiven me and is also not dead, and Herc’s also very alive. So. Shall we get the gang back together?”

           Aaron is quiet for a moment. “If you'll have me.”

           “Alright then. So I'm sure you've seen the message board war going on…”

 

         Aaron joins the group then, and Lafayette realizes he's in their lunch hour and drags him over to sit with them and the others. He doesn't quite know what to expect when he's pulled across the cafeteria, but it isn't easy jokes and a seamless spot between Lafayette and Alexander, like he was meant to be there.

         (He remembers another circular table and another chair in the same spot that he turned down, because he might have been too quiet but they were _so loud_ , so reckless and fierce and assured of their positions on everything that everyone had their eyes on the Revolutionary Set.)

         The groupchat, with its random jokes and sudden flurries of activity and 3am existential conversations is too overwhelming, and he admits that over lunch one day. Aaron is fully prepared for the sure teasing that will follow his announcement, but Alexander just looks at him and facepalms.

          “Oh my _god,_ Aaron, you have social anxiety or something, don't you? That's why you never- I was such an ass, I'm sorry,” he groans, throwing an arm around him.

         John stares and then slams his head on the table. “Okay, wow, but if Burr had/has social anxiety then _you_ had high-functioning anxiety, and we're not even going to _try_ and apply real modern psychology to my sorry self.”

         “Depression for sure for you, John,” Herc cuts in. “Hammy wrote me in a panic because he was afraid you were going to kill yourself while you were in Pennsylvania.”

          Aaron holds up a hand. “I don't have any sort of anxiety, not officially, anyway. Mental health aside, I do have interesting news. So you all know Sam Seabrook, right?”

          “Yeah,” the others chorus.

           “He's not writing any more of those papers. They've been handed off to someone else. Sam messaged me to say that when we see more of those it's not his doing. And he actually said something about realizing he should probably respect purple, too.”

           Alexander's face breaks into a grin. “Well, I'll be damned,” he says softly. “I did that verbally. Shit, son.”

* * *

 

         Damn it, damn it all to hell, he thinks, shoving his chair out and standing abruptly. He stumbles, leg still asleep- ha, at least part of him is- and he grabs onto the desk for support.

        He realizes it's irrational and stupid, just a case of writer's block or something, but he _hates_ it, he _hates_ this weird empty quiet no-words-where-are-my-words-I-want-to-write-but-I-don't- _need-_ to-what-is-this feeling. Alexander can't remember the last time he was like this in this life; he bets it's the first.

        Last time, though, he can remember this helpless-strange-calm happening a whole of twice. Once, after a letter from Henry Laurens in 1782, informing him of John’s death. And again nearly ten years later, when Eliza had confronted him about the Reynolds Pamphlet.

        This empty, silent, numb, not-writing-not-talking-wrong _wrong **wrong**  _state of his is what he likes to call the eye of the hurricane, because it only happens when shit either went down, is going down, or is about to go down. _And it is quiet, for just a moment, a yellow sky._

        For someone who is _just nonstop_ , who never shuts up and never shuts down, this sudden blank apathy is terrifying, the lack of words bubbling ready on the tip of his tongue or pen feeling more like a missing limb than a missing idea.

         _Why do you write like you're running out of time?_ asks some corner of his mind as he paces the flloor, and a part of him admits that it's because he has to, because if he doesn't write and rant and rage and distract himself he ends up with this void inside of him that drains all his energy and passion and general fucks to give.

        Alexander, for all that he might want to take a break, is not an idle creature. He doesn't _do_ calm, he doesn't _do_ rest, he doesn't _do_ cozy mornings under the covers and lazy afternoons, at least not alone. Because a cozy morning alone becomes an empty day and the void inside him yawns wide and then the whole week is fucked, at the very least.

          _How do you fight like it's going out of style?_ the same corner of his mind asks timidly, and the rest of him screams silently that he is only nonstop because he _can't afford to stop_ , he won't shut up because the moment his mouth stops his brain starts and it never has anything kind to say.

        As cruel as Burr and Jefferson’s words might have been, _bastard, whoreson, never gonna be president now,_ they were never more cruel than his own mind- useless, pathetic, waste of space, stupid, can't honor a marriage any more than his father, everyone will eventually realize how worthless you are and leave you, everyone already HAS.

        On some level Alexander distantly realizes he's going into a panic attack, feels the tears burn their way down his face and how his chest is heaving and how his nails are long enough that they're digging into his leg because he's curled up on the floor by the end of his bed, when did that happen?

        A cheerful shout of, “Showtime, showtime, yo!” sounds from his desk, and a spark of something relights in his chest because he isn't alone this time, his friends are here, his Laurens is here, and maybe Angelica hates him, but they're not that close now, it's fine.

        “Hey,” Alexander says softly, and his heart lifts to hear John on the other end.

        “Alex, you'll never guess what- Alex? Are you alright?” John asks over the crackling line.

         Alexander hurries to say, “Yeah, no, I'm fine, you called at a great time, actually, interrupted me in the middle of a spiral.”

        John sighs into the phone, letting out a rush of static. “You had a panic attack, didn't you?”

         “No,” he replies much too quickly, then softly says, “Maybe.”

         He can practically hear the eyeroll. “Maybe as in you're not sure, or maybe as in you don't want to admit it? Or is it maybe in a I-don't-officially-have-anything-so-I-won't-call-it-a-panic-attack way?”

         “Um. The last two?”

        The phone crackles again, and then John responds with, “This isn't new, is it? When you'd lock yourself away during-”

         “Yeah, those were panic attacks most of the time, if that's what you want to call them,” Alexander admits.

         “I love you, however anxious you might be,” John assures him. “Now as much as I love to stay up and have intelligent conversation until the wee hours of the morning, it's 11-something and we have school tomorrow. I'll stay on the phone until you fall asleep, if you want,” he offers, and Alexander almost wants to cry because John is so much more than he will ever deserve.

         But he nods, then replies out loud as he plugs his cheap phone into the cheaper charger and wiggles it around until it works.

John starts talking about this turtle reserve he heard about, and Alexander crawls under the covers and lets his boyfriend's ramblings on the joys of turtles slowly lull him to sleep.

       Maybe taking a break wasn't so bad if you weren't alone. 


	3. Villians, Friends, and Valley Forge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.  
> Lots of angst this chapter. Starts after first line break, quadruples after the second. I'll try and lighten up next time?  
> Also, tw for vague mentions of rape (regarding Jefferson and Sally Hemmings).
> 
> Discussion of Valley Forge and conditions there after second line break, so I think that's a tw in and of itself.

  “My glasses are disgusting and I can't fucking see,” Alexander complains loudly, and everyone around the table sighs at the same time, because if Alex was bitching about his glasses then he was in an argumentative mood, and if you got in the way when Alexander fucking Hamilton was in an argumentative mood? May god have mercy on your foolish self.

       In which ‘god’ is John Laurens, that is. And if you have beef with them both? Forget about it.

       So when Thomas Jeffries, a transfer from Virginia, starts bragging about his Revelation being a hero of the Revolutionary War, it's obviously not Alexander who is sent over to warn him that ‘Hey, remember that guy that Jefferson wrote that strongly-worded letter to? The one that we all signed? Yeah, well that guy’s here and won't hesitate to have his minions kick your ass, pretty boy.’

        Precisely because that's what he told Herc to say, of course.

        Herc’s halfway across the cafeteria when his eyes widen and he veers back to the table. “Actually, I feel like maybe talking to Jeffries isn't the greatest idea, not coming from us,” he admits.

         Everyone exchanges a look, and Laf adds, “Alexander, don't look at him, don't speak to him, and for God's sake, don't-”

         “Oh my fuck, it's Jefferson, isn't it? I'm gonna fight him,” he exclaims, already halfway out of his seat. Aaron and John pull him back down.

          Alexander turns a beseeching look to John, who smiles. It's not his usual warm smile; instead, it is cold and calculating. “Look at it this way, dear boy,” he says. “You could fight him and get in trouble, _or_ we could let him continue to dig himself a hole with King's folks. An old friend swoops in with an ultimatum; be less of a dickbag or I won't help you, and then we've either one, gotten ourselves an ally, however begrudgingly, or two, let him get his just desserts without getting in trouble ourselves.”

           The group just stares at him, before Aaron laughs. “Damn. I guess this explains why Alexander wanted you in on the politics.”

          “I have so much dirt on everyone, it's not even funny,” John replies, ready grin back on his face. “And now I can never taunt Franklin about _Fart Proudly_. Such a shame…”

          Herc raises an eyebrow. “Why not share some of the stupider ones with the internet- I'm sure your fandom would appreciate it.”

          John scowls and Alexander shudders. “They're just as much your fandom as they are ours, Herc,” Aaron points out, not without his own wince. “They're including you more and more.”

          “ _S’il vous plait,_ just leave me out of this one,” Lafayette moans. “Seriously, all the threesomes and porn…”

         Alexander snorts at their expression. “Hey, at least you're not the main character,” he retorts. “Do you have any idea the shit I've been called on the internet?”

         Aaron stares him down. “You might be the main character, but _I'm the damn fool that shot_ you. And yet the sheer quantity of the fics featuring the two of us- holy hell.”

        “Lams is canon, Hamburr is not and never will be, end of story.”

 

         Alexander goes back to the library.

         Not because he particularly wants to see anyone there, mind you. But he'd really rather not have to pay late fees, and he needs to get a biography for school- he's doing a presentation on himself, but MLA format demands sources- so he goes.

        John tags along, because he _says_ he needs a biography (and he does, because not everyone gets to write about themselves, Alex,) and  _thinks_ that it would be just Alexander's luck to run into someone else who had beef with him last time. Or this time.

        He isn't wrong.

        “You!” a curly-haired girl in yellow shouts, storming towards them. Alexander looks at her and groans.

        “Hi, Peggy,” he sighs.

        She glares. “Alexander Hamilton, you asshole.”

        “That's me,” he replies, tone flat and resigned. “How's life?”

        Peggy huffs. “Stop trying to change the subject. I'm trying to rip you new one here.”

        A grim smile tugs at Alexander's lips. “I'm afraid Angelica beat you to that one, Peg.”

         “Ouch,” she says, tense shoulders falling. “I suppose she's taken my and Eliza’s turns on that, too. She's back, then?”

        John nods. “And also dating the library assistant, so if you want to get in touch-”

        “Who- oh, you're the gay one that got plastered at the wedding, the one I danced with, right? John something?

         He snorts. “That's what you all remember me as? The drunk gay one? And yes, John Laurens.”

          Alexander shoots him a look. “I mean, you were really drunk. I feared for your liver.”

           “Come on, I wasn't that bad.”

          Peggy raises an eyebrow. “You flirted with a potted plant, man. If you weren't drunk, I think we have bigger problems here.”

          John pinches his nose. “Fuck, I did, didn't I?”

 

     _Hamslice: hey_

_hey_

_H.Mey: wat_

_Hamslice: memes.jpg_

_G.Laf: …_

_Turtles: goddammit alex_

_H.Mey: why r u like this_

_G.Laf: someone explain_

_im assuming its a joke in english_

_Hamslice: ‘beauty’ is in the eye of the bee holder (beholder)_

_H.Mey: its not funny if u need to explain it_

_Turtles: dont baguette-shame the lafbaguette_

**_G.Laf has changed their name to Lafbaguette_ **

_Lafbaguette: i need to be more obnoxiously french, dont i_

_H.Mey: not really_

_Hamslice: yes_

_laf wear the shirt_

_Turtles: the shirt?_

_Hamslice: HE DOESNT KNOW_

_OH GOD LAF U HAVE TO WEAR THE SHIRT_

_Lafbaguette: fucking,,,,_

_fine_

_H.Mey: is this the one shirt you made me do?_

_Hamslice: YES_

_Turtles: no spoilers pls_

_Lafbaguette: youll see at school_

_H.Mey: i need a new username_

_Turtles: come up with one then_

_H.Mey: nah_

 

Lafayette shows up the next day wearing a shirt covered with glitter in the pattern of the French flag, cartoon french fries scattered across it. They get a lot of weird looks, but nobody looks more confused than one Thomas Jeffries.

         “Oh holy shit,” John says lowly as they walk into pre-calculus. “Alright. Yeah, that's obnoxiously French.”

          Lafayette beams, sliding into the seat next to John. “I do try, _mon ami._ Alexander suggested it, I found it, Herc added the fries.”

          Jeffries blinks, then shakes his head, and blinks again. John notices and holds back a laugh. “Laf, I do believe you may or may not have been recognized,” he whispers.

           “ _Oui_ , what gave it away? The shirt? The name? The hair?” they ask, smile still wide, but dimming a few watts as they continue much more quietly. “I mean, if he wasn't quite so… _him_ , I'd be glad to reunite with an old friend. But some of the things he did last time, things I only found out about now- I just can't see him as I used to.”

           John nods. “I only made my peace with the pamphlet ordeal because both Eliza and I knew he was polyamorous. But poly or not, he always… asks,” he replies delicately. “From what I've heard, Jefferson didn't.”

          The two share a solemn look before the teacher walks in and the topic is dropped.

 

          “Too fucking long, she says. It's only 4 double-spaced pages! It has to be the shortest thing I've written this year!” Alexander fumes, slamming into his seat at the lunch table. Everyone sighs. Again.

          James Martin starts coughing in the lunch line, loudly enough that the entire cafeteria can hear it. Jeffries pats him on the back and mutters something, something that makes a grin spread across both of their faces.

          “About time they got their act together,” Aaron mumbles into his milk carton. “Really, the amount of sheer _pining_ between those two- here I thought John and Alexander were bad!”

          Lafayette rolls their eyes and nods vehemently in agreement. “To say the least,” they agree.

          Martin walks past their table and starts humming, which makes John burst out laughing. Alexander locks eyes with him across the table and grins, starting to hum just as loudly.

          Herc listens for a few seconds before groaning and slamming his head into the table, twisting to glare at Alexander and John. “You're incorrigible, the both of you.”

          “We know,” they chime in unison.

          Aaron shakes his head. “Why? Why are you like this?”

          “Someone explain, _s’il vous plaît._ What am I missing?” Lafayette asks, eyes narrowed.

          Herc shrugs. “Shitty pop song from… like the 80s or 90s, don't know the actual date. But the part Madison was humming, the lyrics are ‘my boyfriend’s back, and you're gonna get in trouble.’”

           They snort. “Yeah, okay. I feel like they're the ones in trouble here, though.”

           “And why might you say that?” Aaron asks rhetorically.

           Alexander grins. “Because they've dealt with me; they've dealt with you on the occasion. But you know what they never actually had to face?”

           “The Revolutionary Set?” he sighs.

           “The Revolutionary Set!” Alexander crows. “I argued with them and won at my worst, so if now I'm at my best…”

           Aaron rests his head on the table. “Sweet Jesus. Just- just no duels, and preferably no fistfights, he's a foot taller than you.”

           “Don't worry about it,” Alexander replies with a dismissive wave. “Honestly, I doubt we have to fight over most of the things we used to anymore. Financial plan- they fucked it up around the Civil War, but it worked. Government- again, history has spoken. Slavery- he's black this time, I really do hope he's changed his mind.” He smirks triumphantly. “All of which I was right about.”

            John pats him on the shoulder. “Congrats, you weren't a massive asshole. Still an asshole though.”

            “Who wasn't?”

 

* * *

 

            “You will be paired off and assigned a key point in the Revolution to do your project on. Jeffries and Martin, you have the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Lafayette and Harrison, you have the winter at Valley Forge. McDaniel and Schmidt, you have the Battle at Lexington and Concord…”

            Alexander turned to find that the Frenchperson beside him was wearing a matching look of horror to his own. “Think we can trade with whoever gets Yorktown?” he murmurs.

             “ _Non_ , this is Adams,” they reply. “Unless we want to tell everyone here who we are, we won't be allowed to switch. And even then… remember, he was part of Congress at the time.”

            The two stare at each other, and then some half-forgotten anger straightens Alexander’s spine. “You know what?” he says as Adams tells the class to get to work, “I have a plan. How many people in this room are you willing to bet were part of the indecisive Congress at that point?”

              Lafayette glances around the room. “At least part of the people influencing it greatly? Probably 6 or 7. Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Alex?”

              “We write the most damning thing we can on how their lack of action caused half the problems we faced there?” he replies.

              They nod, then pause. “Problem with that, though. If we're trying to drive the point home, we're including graphic details, right?”

              “Right. Oh, I see. If we're here and we were there, there's a chance someone else was too. Um, we can tell them to excuse themselves before the PowerPoint if they were a soldier there? Get Adams to agree?” Alexander suggests.

             Lafayette shrugs, then stands, headed for the teacher’s desk. “Um, Mr. Adams, you want this as accurate as we can get it, right?” they ask.

             “That would be the point of this, yes,” Adams snaps.

             They do a perfect imitation of a concerned friend. “Sir, it's sure to be full of horrible memories for anyone who might have had a past life and been there. Might we warn them beforehand to sit in the hallway while we present if it's going to be a problem?”

              Adams considers for a moment, then nods. “Fine. I don't need any disruptions from my class.”

              “Thank you,” Lafayette says, and hurries back to their seat. “Hamslice, we are a-go.”

 

             “Valley Forge? Damn, Alex, are you two gonna be okay with doing that one? Herc and I got Yorktown, so we're good, but damn,” John says, worry furrowing his brows.

             Alexander shrugs. “I mean, yeah it's gonna be horrible, but there's like, 7 guys from Congress in our class. I'll take a mental breakdown if I can get petty revenge.”

             “This is an utterly terrible idea and I call not it for explaining to Washington why his child and his might-as-well-be-his child are locked in the bathroom having a panic attack or three,” Aaron declares. “I am _not_ explaining that one to him. Also, I need plausible deniability when Adams gets his ass fired.”

              Lafayette rolls their eyes. “Guys, it's fine. It's not ideal, but it's still fine, we'll be fine.”

              Herc glanced at them from the corner of his eye. “Whatever you say, Laf. We'll be here for you both if you need us.”

              “Thanks, Herc. But again,” Alexander insists, “it'll be fine.”

              It was most certainly not fine.

 

     _Lafbaguette: so we present tomorrow_

_Hamslice: that we do_

_Lafbaguette: im a petit bit nervous_

_i mean weve mostly been fine working it out_

_but like_

_Hamslice: yeah_

_were doing a class presentation on one of THE WORST things in my whole life_

_bc like, yes i had you and john_

_but starving and freezing half to death isnt rly a fun convo topic_

_Lafbaguette: u dont have to tell me twice_

_guess who had to awkwardly try and comfort me when i started crying over a textbook_

_Hamslice: laf…_

_Lafbaguette: like im fine_

_im p sure someone we knew wrote that one part tho_

_bc it mentioned the apple thing and like_

_i just /remembered/_

_Hamslice: oh god the apple thing_

_yeah, top 10 worst days of my life_

* * *

 

           “Alright folks,” Alexander says, shoving his hands in his swearshirt pockets so no-one could see them shake. “This isn't one for the faint-hearted, so if you happened to be a soldier at Valley Forge, you're more than welcome to go sit in the hall. God knows the two of us came close enough to a breakdown making this thing.”

            McDaniel glances across the room, and she and another girl had a silent conversation, before they rose as one and left the classroom. Another boy stands after a moment and follows them, muttering a brief, “Sorry, Cap,” as he passes by. Alexander watches him go, wide-eyed.

            “Anyone else?” he asks, and he hopes his voice doesn't sound as hoarse as he thinks it does. Most shake their heads, the rest still staring at the classroom door. When no-one else moves, he offers a tight smile and claps his hands together as Lafayette opens the PowerPoint on the board behind them. “Excellent. Let's begin.”

              “On the eve of December 19, 1777, the already poorly-fed and badly-equipped Continental Army, 12,000 men, staggered into the easily-defensible location of Valley Forge to set up winter camp,” Lafayette begins, their tone harsh. “Despite what you might have heard, the suffering didn't start there.”

               Alexander took a deep breath and picked up the torch. “Upon their arrival after yet another long, grueling march, roughly one in four of them had shoes- the rest were barefoot or had their fee wrapped in rags. The forces left a trail of bloody footprints behind them in the thin snow.”

                “As far as shelter, that was perhaps the best thing of the situation,” Lafayette says. “The army stayed in hastily built log cabins, which was great for those who had carpentry experience, but most huts weren't constructed particularly well.”

               The screen flicks to the next slide. “And now we've arrived at the most famous part of this ordeal- the fact that everyone starved half to death. The officers recieved inadequate portions of meat and bread, while others ‘less important’ had only firecake to eat, that being a tasteless patty made of flour and water. On occasionally w- they would be lucky enough to have pepper pot soup; broth from animal organs flavored with black pepper” Alexander continues, ignoring the glare from Lafayette at the near slip.

              “I'm sure many of you are picturing knee-deep snow right about now,” they say, tone too-light. “But in fact the snow was often too thin to be collected and used as drinking water. It would often half-melt and freeze into ice, making even walking around the camp a dangerous task. The alternating freeze/melt/freeze made it nigh impossible to stay dry, and spread disease even faster.”

              Alexander steps in next, face unreadable. “The animals were no better off than the men. The Chief of Artillery noted that by the end of the winter, nearly 700 horses had died of starvation or exhaustion. They ate them, sometimes," he adds casually, almost as an afterthought. It wasn't; they had a plan, after all.

               Lafayette laughs derisively at the horror written on their classmates’ faces. “Come now, if they were boiling their shoes do you really not think they would seize the chance for actual meat, even if the source was once their loyal steed? Ha!”

               “Laf,” Alexander warns. They were going off-script, and that wouldn't work. They needed to stay on track: they wanted to teach a lesson, not traumatize everyone.

               They scowl. “Look, I'm making a point. That was the attitude and you know it. No food to speak of, no clothing that wasn't patched and threadbare, wounded dying from exposure, scarce blankets- 4,000 men unfit for duty! A third of our forces! But wait, those are just numbers, numbers in a letter, right?”

                “Excuse me,” Alexander snaps, whirling to face him. “No, pardon, excuse _you_ . Don't say I didn't understand, _don't_ understand, alright? I had to translate for von Steuben and his drills, I watched the men stumble and fall and drag themselves to their feet only to fall again. Do you know what part of my job was, Laf? Who do you think wrote out the notices to send to the families? Day after day after day of, _My deepest sorrows, ma’am, but I regret to inform you your husband is dead. Your son is dead, your brother is dead, your father is dead._ Day after day of pleading with Congress, _We're starving, we're freezing, we're dying, do something, please_. You may have seen more action with them than I, but I can tell you every-fucking-name! Photographic memory, remember?” His low words grow louder as he continues, filling the room, though he hadn't yet raised his voice to a shout.

        Lafayette looks away. “I'm sorry, _mon ami_ , but-”

        “They don't get it, I know. They weren't there.” Alexander looks back at their classmates, all quiet and still, frozen in place. He lets his gaze burn them, casting his eyes to each and every one of them that he's known in the past. “The forces were malnourished and poorly clothed,” he says in a deadly whisper that manages to carry from the front of the classroom to the back. “Living in crowded, damp quarters, a perfect breeding ground for disease. Typhoid, typhus, smallpox, dysentery, pneumonia, infection, exposure, starvation- if you didn't desert, you suffered. If you didn't suffer, you were dead.”

             “2,500,” Lafayette interrupts. “Do any of you know what that means? Anyone?” The classroom was silent, and Adams pointedly stared at the ground. “2,500 men died by the end of that winter,” they answer. “Think the entire population of this town, give or take. Then kill them slowly. Painfully. And then think about this.”

              Alexander stares at the crowd. “A skeleton of an army, they called us. Out of health, out of spirits. Congress did nothing until the end of January, things didn't really improve until the end of February. And yet, here we are. Here, now, with that flag on the wall.” He pauses, then steps forward, furiously pressing the ‘next’ button on the projector remote. As the class stares blankly at the swirling designs on the board, he slams the remote on the table and spits, “You're welcome.”

               Silence reigns as he sweeps out of the room, Lafayette only half a pace behind him.

                On some unnameable instinct, a girl lurches out of her seat in the front row, walking to the board and freezing, fingers hovering over its surface. “Oh my god,” she whispers.

                “What? What is it?” calls a kid in the back.

                The girl looks like she's about to be sick. “It's not a design, it's cursive,” she replies, before spinning around to face the class. “People, these are _names_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, yeah, I'm sorry for this.
> 
> Stop by my tumblr at @discount-satan and scream about the founding fathers with me.
> 
> Also, if you have any username suggestions for Herc, let me know in the comments!


	4. Word Got Around (Interlude)

         “Three slides full,” whispers a girl. “Just names, names and more names, all of them looked handwritten. Do you think he has a list of them all somewhere?”

          A boy glances over. “I'm in that class, and let me tell you, it was actually as intense as the rumors are saying it is. When he said ‘you're welcome’… man, I had chills.”

         “Guys, guys, so you know how he said he translated for von Steuben during the drills? Well, turns out there were a grand total of two men who did that regularly- John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton!” chimes in another.

        The girl's eyes widen. “That's not a fucking coincidence. Hamilton and Harrison, Lafayette and Lafayette- Oh. Lawrence and Laurens, Meyer and Mulligan, Burke and Burr? What do you want to bet, folks?”

       “Oh shit son. Wait, Keira, that means you wrote fanfiction about our classmates!” the boy responds

        “Fucking… fuck. Alright, don't post about this, I swear. Other people will figure it out, but seriously, let's not be the ones to spill it.”

 

        Other people figured it out.

 

bitterwriterbi

 

>      Ok so we had to do presentations on the rev war for school and like this guy named Alexander and his friend Lafayette did this one on Valley Forge????? And like so they started arguing halfway thru bc Lafayette didn't think Alexander cared enough about the death toll???? And THEN Alexander started yelled back that bc of his photographic memory he could recite the names of each soldier that died??????? And Lafayette apologized and said they were frustrated bc none of the rest of the class could understand what it was like?
> 
>      AND THEN THEY STARTED REFERRING TO THE CONTINENTAL FORCES IN THE FIRST PERSON
> 
>       _AND ALEXANDER TALKED ABOUT ACTING AS A TRANSLATOR FOR VON STEUBEN_
> 
>     **_GUYS_ **

   _3784 notes_

 

Hamwatch

>      Aka @whambamhamfam
> 
>       Fucking,,,,, i think a.ham and friends might be students at my school????? My very conservative midwestern school??????
> 
>      @bitterwriterbi has a summary somewhere, shes also helping me as a mod on this blog
> 
>       I cant fucking wait to see what the hell happens w this, hopefully not a false alarm -mod w

      _5631 notes_

 

   OfuckHamilton @j.doe  

        HOLY FUCK I THINK A.HAM IS BACK LOOK AT THIS

     869 retweets  947 likes

 

    _Hamslice: fuck_

_we fucked up_

_we fucked up so thoroughly_

_i might as well have written a second reynolds pamphlet_

_Lafbaguette: im just as much at fault here_

_i started bickering_

_Turtles: what did you do_

_A.Burr: ALEXANDER HAMILTON_

_Hamslice: fuck_

_A.Burr: MARIE-JOSEPH PAUL YVES ROCH GILBERT DU MOITER_

_H.Mey: guys_

_Lafbaguette: double fuck_

_A.Burr: WHAT DID YOU DO_

_HALF THE SCHOOL IS IN AN UPROAR_

_Hamslice: we fucked up big time_

_H.Mey: guys_

_A.Burr: YOU REVEALED YOUR PAST LIVES BY ARGUING_

_CONGRATULATIONS_

_THE INTERNET HAS GONE MAD_

_Turtles: fucking,,,,,_

_were all screwed once they put 2 and 2 together_

_or rather Laurens and Lawrence_

_H.Mey: CHILDREN_

_SHUT UP FOR HALF A SECOND_

_Lafbaguette: k_

_H.Mey: Laf- goddammit i said this would end badly_

_Alex- stop spiraling nobody blames you, it had to happen eventually_

_John/Aaron- we fought a fucking war we can deal with a fandom_

_Laf- maybe tell gwash what happened_

_Alex- theres an elizabeth sky on my doorstep, get ur ass over here_

_John- u come too if u can_

_Ok?_

_Hamslice: fuckity fuck fuck_

_im coming_

_Turtles: on my way_

_Lafbaguette: merde alright_

_A.Burr: riiiiiight_

_im so fucking dead_

**_Lafbaguette has added Washingdad to the chat_ **

**** _Washingdad: right_

_what have you added me to now_

_Turtles: scroll up_

_Washingdad: …_

_yet again mulligan is the sane one_

_why oh why couldn't i give him a command_

_also: Lafayette, why_

_Lafbaguette: oops?_

_A.Burr: understatement_

_Hamslice: ok but will senpai notice me_

_H.Mey: alex not the time_

 


	5. Friends, Family, and Fucking Terrible Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some actual fluff for once, it's a damn miracle.

Eliza socks him in the jaw, and then proceeds to cry into his shoulder for half an hour.

         “You fucking moron,” she huffs. “You fucking moron.”

         He smiles up at her. “Missed you too, Betsey.”

         After a good long moment of crying onto each other's hair, sitting on Herc’s kitchen floor, Eliza sits back, (It's criss-cross applesauce, pipes a memory,) and brushes hair out of her face.

          “You're poly,” she says, and it isn't a question but a statement.

          Alexander nods. “I am.”

          “I'm not,” she replies, and he shrugs.

          “Okay. And?”

          She stares at him. “I have a girlfriend.”

          He blinks. “Okay. And?”

          Eliza pinches her nose and prays for patience. “I'm trying to tell you I'm not interested in you anymore. I'm gay.”

          “Alright, I have a boyfriend who I do believe isn't poly, so that works out nicely,” Alexander replies, before rolling his eyes at her expression. “Look, did you really think I would have any room to throw stones even if I wanted to? Come on.”  _ Laurens, I like you a lot. _

          She shrugs awkwardly. “May-be? It's just, I've gotten a lot of shit for it at my school and at home they don't have a problem with it, but they think she's a bad influence on me because she doesn't shave her legs.”

          Alexander raises an eyebrow. “That is…  _ actually  _ the stupidest thing I've heard in awhile, and I have Jefferson at my school.”

           “I know, right?” Eliza agrees, throwing her hands in the air. “That's not even logical! Oh, yes, your daughter has a girlfriend and that's fine, but your daughter has a girlfriend with  _ hairy legs _ ? No, that can't happen! It's like, wow. Just wow. She's perfect and beautiful and witty and sarcastic as hell and amazing and yet not shaving her legs makes my parents hate her?”

           He grins and leans back against the cupboard. “Sounds like Eliza’s in loooooooove,” he says. “Alright, tell me about this girlfriend of yours, then.”

            “Her name's Theo, aka Theodora. She's had her Revelation, and yes, she was Theodosia,” she starts, cutting off the incoming question. “Also very pan, also very poly.” Her face falls. “I do worry, sometimes, that if she finds Aaron again she'll want to be with him. I know it's not logical, but- yeah.”

            Alexander rests his chin on his hand and sighs. “Alright, well here's the thing. Sometimes you are just  _ so  _ in love with someone that it carries over lifetimes, and all you want to do when you see them again is swoon at their feet, cling onto their legs and never let them out of your sight,” he says. “Kiss them until your lips fall off, just be able to hold hands until the end of times.”

          In the other room John stares towards the kitchen doorway, half-wondering which one of them he's talking about.

           “And then there are the people who carry over that you got to spend at least part of your time with, even if it wasn't enough. And sometimes you still have romantic feelings, sometimes not. Sometimes they broke your heart and you hate them, sometimes you did the breaking and can't forgive yourself. Whatever it was, you just aren't always compatible with the same people you might have spent a lifetime with last time.” His eyes are heavy, but they lighten as he glances to the living room. “And then sometimes you get a second chance.”  _ You're the closest ‘friend’ I've got. _

             Eliza arches an eyebrow. “So basically you're telling me to get over you because you've moved on- or back, whatever- and hope that Theo does the same?”

             He laughs. “If you're at the point of worrying about this, it sounds like there's no getting over to be done.”

             She snorts.

 

            “Oh, um, Betsey,” Alexander calls as they make to leave, dashing back to the door and pulling out his phone. “Here's my number- if you find any of the kids, shoot me a text, please.”

          There's a heavy guilt in his eyes, because _ it's quiet uptown _ , a guilt that a fragment of her, the tiny, tiny fragment that still is fully Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton wants to lean up and kiss away, but the rest of her knows as Eliza Sky that it's John’s place to do so now.

            “Yeah, alright,” she replies softly. “And here’s mine- you do the same, Alexander.”

            He doffs a nonexistent cap to her. “Yes ma’am. Have you met either of your sisters yet, this time?” he asks. 

            Eliza frowns. “Not yet. You have?”

            “Try the library- unofficial Schuyler Central. Angelica is dating the library assistant there, apparently, so she can put you in touch. I'll see you around?”

            She snorts. “See you around, Alex.”

            He jogs back to where John is waiting and throws an arm around the other's shoulders, throwing back his head and laughing at something the freckled boy says. Eliza watches, her only thought that perhaps this is what he needed to be satisfied.

            And then she laughs at the subconscious reference.

 

           Lafayette decides that for their long weekend they need to go to the outdoor market- which, for their barely-even-one-horse town, is almost the equivalent of Lollapalooza. As far as entertainment goes, it's that or the depressingly rundown movie theater still playing  _ Logan _ , so everyone else agrees to tag along.

           “Come on, John, they're going to be obsessing over the jewelery for a good long while,” Alexander insists, tugging him away from where they awkwardly waited. “Laf, Herc, we'll be over by the food, okay?”

          Herc gives them a thumbs-up and Lafayette ignores them completely, so Alexander takes that as the cue to leave. “Here, I think the pet store has a thing by the food,” he says, and John rolls his eyes.

          “Alright, alright. Lead the way,” he agrees, because puppies are always an acceptable bribe. But fluffballs aside, he'd have been perfectly willing if only to see the way his boyfriend’s lips twitch up into a smile- and isn't that a word he'd never thought he'd be able to say.

           Alexander drags him halfway through the food trucks and fruit stalls before abruptly freezing, stopping quickly enough that John nearly falls over. “Alex, what-”

          He's ignored in favor of glancing around, dark eyes roaming over the crowd. “Do you smell that?” Alexander asks, turning back to him with almost childlike delight written on his face. 

          “Um. Maybe? What am I smelling?” John replies hesitantly.

          “ _ Cocoa tea _ ,” Alexander says emphatically, eyes shining and smile wide. “Done  _ correctly _ , none of the bland modern instant shit. But who the hell here would be making historically accurate spiced cocoa tea?”

          John shrugs. “Um. No clue? A bunch of the food trucks are traveling ones, I think. Might be one of the ones that do a larger circuit around the state?”

          The shorter shrugs. “I mean, that's not an American thing, John. Hot chocolate, yes, cocoa tea, no. I only had it a few times on special occasions when my mama made it… and of course Jamie made it for me just before I left, last time.” 

           For once Alexander doesn't look terribly sad discussing his past, instead wearing an expression of fond remembrance. John's heart sings as he notice how the slightest tinge of an accent has crept into the other's tone, barely there, but noticeable.

          “Two hot chocolate, coming right up,” says a tired looking guy behind the counter of a food truck, and Alexander spins around so quickly that John's half-afraid he's given himself whiplash. 

          Alexander stares at the guy, who can't be far from their age, for a long moment before letting out a sharp gasp and rushing forward, yanking John with him as he thanks every god he's ever heard of that there's no line.

          The guy turns back to them and offers a forced smile. “Hey, what can I get you two?”

          “Two cocoa teas, if you could, please,” Alexander replies, and the guy- his nametag reads  _ Ned _ \- starts, then smiles.

          “Sugar?” he asks.

          A wide grin finds a place on Alexander's face. “Yes.”

          “Thick or plain?”

          “Just slightly thick, _ s’il vous plait _ .”

          “Nutmeg and cinnamon?”

          Alexander snorts. “Of course.”

          “Then I assume no salt?”

          “No salt,” Alexander confirms, and John looks at him, amused.

          Ned sets a timer to let it boil and faces them. “I have to say, it's been forever since I've had anyone order a ‘cocoa tea’ instead of a hot chocolate,” he admits, leaning against the counter. “Do you happen to be from the Caribbean? Family there?”

          Alexander shrugs. “Parents were from there this time, and I was from Nevis last time,” he replies easily, piercing eyes searching the other’s. 

           “Really? I was too, last time. When, about?” Ned replies.

           There's a pause, and a half-hopeful, half-fearful look that flashes across Alexander's face as he says, “Oh, around 1750s, 1760s. Christiansted, you probably know where. Small island.”

            “Understatement,” Ned retorts. “Tiny. But seriously, we might have known each other, then. I'm sorry if I'm prying, but do you remember exactly what your name was?” 

           He bites his lip and answers. “Alexander. Alexander Hamilton, actually. And I have my suspicions, but you…?” 

            “Edward Stevens,” Ned confirms past a lump in his throat. “Alex, you're back?”

             Alexander grins. “As are you! I have to admit I didn't expect to see you again, Ned. So, tell me. How was… well, everything?”

             Ned rolls his eyes, finishing the cocoa tea. “Later- do you have Skype? I live a few counties west of here, I'm just here for the weekend gig.”

             “Oh, yeah, here.”

 

            Alexander is practically glowing as they meet back up with Lafayette and Herc, a Skype call arranged and cocoa tea in hand. “Hey, there you are,” Herc says. “We were starting to wonder.”

            “Just ran into an old friend,” Alexander replies. “Nobody you would have known in more than passing, though. Saved my ass more times than you two and John put together.”

            Lafayette raises an eyebrow. “Really, now,” they ask. “Somehow I doubt that- well, as in getting you out of trouble or actually saving your life?”

            “Actual life-saving,” admits Alexander, taking a sip of his drink. “Mmm. Yeah, I count… at least six or seven times? Minimum.”

           Exasperation isn't quite strong enough of a word to describe Herc’s expression. “Minimum?  _ Minimum _ ?”

           A shrug. “Well, yeah. There was the roof thing, and when Mama died he convinced his father to take in James and I, and in the hurricane he made me shelter near him instead of where I planned to. And when the ship was on fire- don't ask. Um, saved Eliza and I when we got yellow fever, and his research as a doctor indirectly helped when I collapsed from exhaustion that time. Probably others I'm forgetting.”

           John pinches his nose and sighs. “Alex…” 

 

          Their next break arrives with a sense of looming disaster and a distinct lack of breakdowns. Which, while usually a plus for literally anyone else, just meant that everyone was just bottling it up. 

          Alexander plunks his head down on the table with a heavy sigh. “I,” he declares loudly, “am going to go mad over break.”

          “Because you haven't already?” Aaron asks his undercooked  sweet potato fry.

          John pokes halfheartedly at the cheese-and-tomato-sauce covered piece of bread masquerading as ‘pizza.’ “Yeah, same. Week and a half of knocking around the empty house with nothing to do. Never thought I'd regret leaving the South- I don't- but at least there was something to  _ do  _ in the Carolinas.”

           “Why did you even move here?” Herc asks suddenly. “I'm not complaining, obviously, but like, a South Carolina senator's son moving to a shitty little town in Illinois? How did that even happen?”

          The freckled boy snorts. “Um, I punched Howe in the face and got expelled? And I got to pick whatever red county I wanted to start over in and I threw a very lucky dart at a map?”

         “Howe? As in, British general?” Aaron interrupts. “That Howe?”

         “Yeah. Yay for me, I guess.”

         Lafayette huffs. “How you got to punch him and I did not is beyond me. And something I'm going to complain about forever.”

         John rolls his eyes. “He taunted me about the high casualties at… well, at basically everywhere. So I broke his nose. Least I could do, really.”

         “Bare minimum,” Alexander agrees. “Honestly.”

         “Okay, so. The fandom,” Aaron interrupts. “Are we putting someone on damage control, are we owning up to anything, are we just ignoring it, what's going on here. And no twitlonger pamphlets, Alexander. No.”

         Alexander holds up his hands. “Hey, no, I'm not about to expose everyone's past lives. I'm not being blackmailed into writing a pamphlet this time. No life-ruining confessions here.”

         “Alright, so here's the thing,” John cuts in. “The fandom knows that we're back, or at least thinks so. They don't have our names from this round, or where we live, any of that. And I'm not about to give it to them. I like my privacy, at least for now. But later in life the name Alexander Hamilton is going to make a fantastic springboard, and by association- well.”

          Lafayette shrugs. “ _Oui_ , but we are getting ahead of ourselves. Perhaps we should look into getting a historically verified Twitter for one of the more well-known of us, give the fandom something to flock to that is directly from us, no imposters. If we want to be able to spring from our names, we need to try to keep them springable.”

           “That's not a word, but they have a point,” Aaron replies. “I think we should try and salvage whatever’s left of our reputations, build them back up so we have a starting point for when we're, say, applying to colleges.”

           Herc hesitates for a moment, then says, “I hate to suggest this, I really do. But Laf or god forbid Aaron- sorry, but you killed their problematic fave- they're not going to be able to control the fandom. I think there's a grand total of three people who ever could, maximum. Lin, Jonathan Groff… and Alex.”

         Aaron stares at him. “Have you lost your mind?” he retorts sharply. “Alexander with a historically-verified Twitter? He'd challenge the entire Republican party to a duel! Again!”

           “I mean, yeah,” Alexander agrees. “I probably will at some point. Well, maybe not, though, since mutual combat is fisticuffs only.”

          John raises an eyebrow. “But it's legal?”

          Alexander smirks. “In Texas. Everything is legal in Texas, my d ear boy. Except maybe sanity.”

          “Texas scares me sometimes,” Lafayette admits.

          There's a chorus of agreement from around the table.

           “All in favor of getting me a verified Twitter?”

           Everyone except Aaron raises their hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmm I had 'cocoa tea' like once at my grandma's friend's granddaughter's birthday party like 7 years ago. It was really good.
> 
> Also, any suggestions for a non-bland username for Herc? I'm struggling here.
> 
> Kudos and comments if you enjoyed, please!

**Author's Note:**

> Come pester me on my Tumblr @discount-satan

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [we have resorted to (eating our horses)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11656614) by [Marvelgeek42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelgeek42/pseuds/Marvelgeek42)




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